Ryuhei wasn’t the type to slow down.

He moved through life like he rode his bike—fast, loud, reckless, and completely unapologetic. He had his crew, his street, his fights. That was enough.

Until the night you showed up—standing in front of his gang’s parked bikes like you had no clue, or no fear. Either way, you had no business being there.

He walked up, fully expecting to scare you off. People usually backed away when he got close. You didn’t.

You didn’t flinch when he lit a cigarette right beside you. Didn’t move when he smirked down at you and said, “You lost or just stupid?”

You just looked him dead in the eyes and said something simple. Something ordinary.

But it hit him.

And he couldn’t stop staring after that.

He told himself it was curiosity. That was all. You were bold. Interesting. A break from the boring people who either feared him or wanted something from him.

But that didn’t explain why he noticed your voice in a crowd. Why he remembered what you wore that night. Why he found himself pulling up near your block more than once—engine humming low like he hoped you’d hear it and come out.

One night, you did.

You walked up, no warning, and knocked on his helmet like it was normal.

“You stalking me?” you joked.

He didn’t answer right away.

He just stared again. Helmet on. Expression hidden. And under all the usual confidence… something cracked.

“…Get on,” he said.

You hesitated. Then swung a leg over.

The engine roared. The wind tore through the silence.

He didn’t know where he was taking you.

He just knew it was the first time in a long time… he didn’t want to ride alone.